Prompt 6/15 – Touch
Title: First Brushes Characters: 10th Doctor, Rose, Donna, Martha, Jack
Spoilers: First episode of every one the companions
She’s still so distrustful of this him, not yet sure of who all he is, of the change that she wasn’t prepared for, still half convinced that he’s a Slitheen, ready to eat her and take her skin. Her hand doesn’t quite feel the same, he realizes, his fingers curling around her hand. It’s smaller, thinner than he thought, but then again, his last pair of mitts could barely hold onto the circuits in the rotor without dropping them. Her fingers are just starting to curl around his, just trusting that little bit, starting to believe in the biological, explainable magic that is a Time Lord as he leans closer to impart the one word that makes her whisper his name.
In retrospect, when he has a chance to simply think and not have mechanized Father Christmas’s trying to kill everyone in sight, he probably deserved that smack she’d given him. After all, she had just been whisked from her much-anticipated wedding to land in a space ship with a bloke she didn’t know, and could care less about at that moment. He had been rather abrupt with the scanning and the techno-babble, but he was still so raw from losing – She’d had every right to smack him, he decided firmly, moving his jaw a little, testing to see if it still worked alright, even though he knew that he would probably be doing the same thing again soon.
He’s impressed with her, and it takes a lot of spunk, courage and intelligence to get through his walls of alien hyperactivity he’s thrown up. He promised himself that he wouldn’t see them that way anymore, no more. Old hearts can’t take being shattered into a million pieces a third time in such a short timeframe anymore. He grabbed her hand, and her fingers fit into his, and they were off and running, running from hired thugs, fleeing criminals and an ever-present spectre.
He fits better against this body’s long form, he’s just that little bit shorter than the Time Lord, the arms can fit all the way around the coat to reach each other. They are laughing, and the embrace is one of relief and camaraderie. The tension is still there in the old soldier, but it is well lidded, and there is only joy at that one moment that units them, reforges a link that he thought severed, reforges it against the wrongness that he thought a second ago impregnable.
And every time he looks in their eyes, he sees their trust, admiration, love and respect for him, and it humbles him, lifts his hearts and heals one more wound in his soul every single time.